


Snowed In

by afewmistakesago



Series: Pizza Man Gold [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, No Magic AU, The Pizza Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewmistakesago/pseuds/afewmistakesago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Gold is a pizza delivery man, no matter the weather. When his car won’t work during a snow storm, will his Tuesday regular offer shelter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowed In

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to kill my writing slump. Wrote this while at work on a Tuesday. It happens.

He'd wondered if she would still call. The city was practically shut down due to the onslaught of snow and ice, but Pizzeria Storybrooke was open. They had one driver, one chef, and one waitress who was answering the phones. Merida, the waitress, had only come in because the water pipes at her house had frozen over.  It was just enough employees to switch on the open sign, and orders had been slow but steady for those brave enough to face the slick roads.

 

It was just past 7pm, and for the last few months, Alexander Gold had made his way down to Avonlea Drive and delivered one pizza, pepperoni, extra cheese every Tuesday right around 7pm. The regular customer’s small apartment always exuded the smell of clean linens and something fruity and he often felt himself drawn towards the door as she signed the receipt. She was a decent tipper. The caller ID that printed on his directions to her house told him that her name was B. French.

 

"Billie," said David Nolan, sitting down next to Alexander at the empty bar. David was the only cook present, and his apron was scattered with flour and pizza sauce. He normally wouldn't sit out in the dining room, but there were no customers and no managers. Alexander faintly heard the phone ringing, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was her as he heard Merida begin her monologue.

 

"Billie?" Alexander replied quizzically.

 

"B. French. She's on the phone, saw it on the caller ID. I bet her first name is Billie."

 

"That's not a girl's name. And it could be her husband's caller ID. Benjamin, Brody, Brock..." Alexander said, his voice trailing off as he tried to think of more options.

 

"I've made her the same pizza every Tuesday for months, and you always deliver it, and you always come back with a smile on your face," David said matter-of-factly.

 

"Good tipper," said Alexander, winking before he got off his bar stool to check the computer system. The ringing he'd just heard had, in fact, been his Tuesday regular.

 

After a few more minutes of teasing from David, the pizza box was secure in a heated delivery bag. Alexander was on his way, braking frequently and driving far under the speed limit. He vaguely wondered if she would still be in one of her dresses, even with the frigid conditions. Despite the change from summer to fall to winter, she was always impeccably dressed in what he assumed was fashionable clothing.

 

It would be false to say he had a crush on her. It had to be. Alexander had to be a good amount older than her, and she was young and cheery and likely had lovers knocking at her door when it wasn’t pizza night. He didn’t have feelings for her, of any kind, of course. If his heart jumped a little when she opened the door, and if he became bashful, it was probably just because he hadn’t dated a woman in quite some time and she seemed to be the loveliest kind of woman. Alexander had spent one Tuesday night convincing himself the draw he felt towards her was one-sided and inappropriate, and that when her face popped into his mind, it was just because she always tipped nicely.  There was nothing there. It wasn’t romantic. He wasn’t looking for love.

 

As he got closer to her apartment, visibility grew considerably lower. Alexander lived on the opposite side of town, and a growing dread filled in his stomach as he approached the building. He found an empty parking space, grabbing his delivery bag and taking the indoor staircase.

 

Apartment 12. _B. French._

 

He knocked quickly, shifting back and forth on his toes. His hands were practically blue with the chill from the air, and he tried to absorb the heat from the delivery bag. The door was opened, and B. French herself was in front of him. Instead of her normal dress, however, she was in sweatpants and a large sweatshirt, her face bare of makeup and her hair falling into loose waves around her face. Alexander noticed her normal clip-clop-y high heels were replaced by warm-looking boots that read “Ugg”.

 

She must've noticed his staring, glancing down at her outfit with a small grin. "It's cold," she said, shrugging slightly.

 

Alexander nodded, "I know."

 

He pulled the pizza out of the bag and offered her the check book, and she swiftly signed for her pizza, her tip the usual overly kind amount. "It is - very cold," she said as he began to turn away. "And I think it's snowing more now."

 

"Oh?" he replied simply, unsure of what to do. He felt his heart leap a bit, but she was just trying to be helpful.

 

"Yeah. I don't want you driving if it's unsafe. You could… come in?” she said, twirling a piece of hair around her finger and looking up at him. Without the heels, she was only a minute of a human. Alexander couldn’t help but notice that her voice tinged with something that sounded like hope at the end of her sentence. He chose to brush it off.

 

"I'll be okay, Mrs. French," he said, his eyes flicking over the multiple rings that still adorned her fingers despite her comfy attire.

 

Belle turned and set her pizza down on a counter close to her door, leaning against the doorway. She folded her arms, smiling slightly. "Miss French," she corrected, "Miss Belle French."

 

If his brief lessons in French had taught him anything, he knew that Belle meant beautiful. It certainly wasn't a lie. She extended a hand and Alexander looked at it for a moment, then took his freezing hand in her warm, soft one, shaking it. "Alexander Gold. My friends just call me Gold."

 

"The pizza man has a name," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Alexander."

 

It sounded like music rolling off her tongue, and he suddenly felt like he must be taking up too much of her time. "I've got to get back to the restaurant," he said quickly. "It's.. Busy."

 

B. French - Belle - nodded. "I don't want to be a bother. Drive safe!"

 

And with that, she was gone. Alexander began his trek out of the building, and the moment he stepped outside, he could barely see. Everything was coated in white, the snowflakes dancing and flurrying in front of his eyes. He could see his breath, but not the road, and as he approached his car, he began to pray to any God who would listen to let him get home safely.

 

The gods, it seemed, were not listening. Alexander's car wouldn't start.

 

"Damn it all," he whispered, turning the key and waiting for the tell-tale noise of the engine. No such luck. The heat wasn't working as well, and his pitiful worn down coat wasn't helping.

 

His teeth were chattering as he clambered out of his car, hugging himself and trying to gather heat as he climbed the stairs back to Belle's apartment. He knocked, regretting it the moment the door began to move. Belle answered the door, a fleck of pizza sauce on the corner of her mouth. She seemed a bit taken aback by him, her cheeks reddening.

 

"Hi, Belle," he said simply. A greeting seemed the best way to begin. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for - maybe a couch and a blanket. It was crazy, but it would be neighborly of her. And very kind. And he could pay her, if need be. He had a list of thirty reasons why this was a rational request, but a list of thirty-one reasons he shouldn’t have done this.

 

"Hi," she said slowly, her arms crossed over her chest protectively.

 

"It's snowing really, really hard,” he said, pointing down the hallway.

 

"I _told_ you," she said, her expression lightening and her voice teasing.

 

"My car won't start," he said, "and I don't know anyone in this apartment building but you, and I don’t really know you, and..." Alexander trailed off, suddenly feeling far too forward. She probably thought he was leering and ugly and -

 

"Do you like hot chocolate?" her lilting voice cut through his self-depreciating thoughts.

 

He must've seemed confused, because she opened her door further. "Come in," she said, "it's no trouble. Nobody should drive in this weather, honestly, I didn't think the restaurant would be open when I called."

 

He followed her into her house, which was cozy and decorated with colorful knick knacks. "You have a lovely home," he said. "I'll just call my manager and say I won't be in the rest of the night."

 

He did that, and from the corner of his eye, he watched her heat milk and chocolate syrup together, pouring it into two mugs. Alexander's eyes drifted over the desk in front of him, and a laminated card indicated she was "Belle French, Librarian" and employed at Maine University.

 

On the phone, he promised he would take his car into Gus's workshop as soon as the sun appeared and the snow melted. He called David and Merida at the pizzeria to let them know he wouldn’t be returning, and he called his son Neal to make sure his family was safe. Delivery driving wasn't his main job, just something he had picked up when Neal said he was too boring. With the birth of his grandson, he'd cut back his hours as a lawyer. Working at a pizza shop was extra cash and interesting stories to share with his family when they came to dinner.

 

Belle was sitting at her kitchen table, her hands barely peeking out from the bunched up sleeves of her sweatshirt. She nudged a chair to face him. "Sit down," she invited, and he obeyed. She had wiped off the pizza sauce from her mouth when she thought he wasn’t looking.

 

"I don't want you to think I'm some lonely lady who orders pizza every Tuesday and just sits by herself-," Belle began, but Alexander shrugged.

 

"I don't ask questions about the customer," he said simply.

 

She seemed impressed. “Are you of the "the customer is always right" mentality?"

 

He imagined a librarian must deal with all kinds of people. "I suppose so,” he replied.

 

They both took sips of their drink, and Alexander smiled at the warmth of the hot chocolate spreading through his body. "I do have something stronger, if you need it. Bailey's, or something,” Belle said.

 

"Then I'd be drinking and driving," he reminded her, but she shook her head. Belle stood and walked to a corner of the kitchen, lifting a window curtain. The snow was still coming down insistently, covering everything his eyes could see.

 

"Don't think you'll be driving yourself anywhere tonight."

 

"Seems like you're right," he said drily, holding his mug out to her. She took it, setting it on the counter. Belle went on her tip-toes to reach her cabinet - presumably the liquor cabinet. From his brief glimpse, it was surprisingly well-stocked.

 

"Tell me something about yourself," she said, and when he bit his lip, seemingly trying to come up with something interesting, she continued hesitantly, "are you married?"

 

"No," he replied, "I was, but it...didn't work out."

 

"Oh," Belle said, "I'm sorry."

 

He shrugged, an amused look in his eyes. "It's fine. Do you have a boyfriend?"

 

"No," she said, a smirk growing on her face. "I had one, but it didn't work out."

 

The night went on, with Alexander and Belle divulging little bits of their life stories to each other. They moved to her couch, a Christmas movie fading in and out of signal in the background as their conversation progressed. They reached a lull, with both of them nursing their fourth or fifth mug of hot chocolate, and Alexander had started to think Belle was his best friend. Everything was beginning to glow with a soft golden haze, and she seemed like an angel. She was truly mesmerizing, her stories captivating and her wit remarkable. Perhaps he’d actually died in a car accident in the snow, and this was his heaven.

 

Belle's cheeks were red, and her face spread into a grin as she leaned towards him. "Want to hear something crazy?" she asked, tilting her head and eyeing him in a way he couldn't quite identify.

 

"I order pizza every Tuesday because I want to see you. You're so damn _handsome_ ," she said, whispering the final word like it was a sin.

 

He wanted to laugh as he replied, "To see me? I got hopeful every Tuesday to see _you_!"

 

They both began to laugh, their past mutual pining a comical affair. When he woke up in the morning on her couch, with her head resting on his chest and her legs tucked against him, Alexander had never been happier to see it was another morning of being snowed in.


End file.
